


Once Upon a Thing

by Untherius



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Snow White's life hits the fan, she realizes that, despite her apprehensions, the light at the end of the tunnel may not be the headlamp of an oncoming train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



Snow White slumped against a tree, drawing yet another ragged breath. Her mouth and throat felt as parched as the expansive volcanic landscape around her. The rough bark dug into her arm, grinding several days' worth of accumulated dirt and sweat even deeper into her skin. She gazed skyward, waiting for her breathing to even out a little.

Each time she paused, it took just a little longer to recover enough strength to go on and each pause was just a little closer together than the one before it. So much so, that she felt like she'd barely gone a few dozen paces since the last one. But how long and how far had it really been? She had no idea.

The time blurred together like the clouds drifting above the conifer that cast a reluctant, light shade over her and the rocky trail she'd been following. Would it ever end?

She waited, a matted tendril of black hair drifting back and forth across her vision. Collecting herself for what felt like the millionth time, she half shoved, half tipped herself away from the obliging tree.

Step after rocky, crumbling, tottering step brought her at length to a two-lane road. Late summer heat rose up from it, amplified by the lava rock bounding it on both sides, and hit her like a wave. She swayed as she stood listening for several moments, trying to ignore the blood pounding in her ears.

Satisfied, she lurched across the hot blacktop, barely noticing the way her feet slipped on the layer of sweat-slicked dirt between her feet and sandals, or the way the straps ground the trail grit into what was left of the blisters they'd carved into her skin, and ducked around a bend in the trail. A few minutes later, a car passed her unseen, headed west toward...Eugene, was it? She wasn't sure.

A few minutes more brought her out into a large clearing. Exposed, gritty orange soil showed between the pines and in an expansive parking area. She made out two vehicles, both mercifully unfamiliar.

The next step failed, her leg buckling beneath her. She grabbed at the nearest object, some sort of timber-framed box near the trail. But she only succeeded in slowing her fall. She half-rolled off it and landed flat on her back. She groaned, then felt her arm go slack, smacking against the dirt as it fell. Then everything went blurry, the blue sky and the grey-brown-green pine needles fading into a deepening grey mist that finally dissolved into blackness.

* * *

Rapunzel Gothel stood demurely in the expansive foyer of the Epsilon Mu Upsilon sorority house. The woman she'd grown up believing to be her mother hovered next to her. Another woman stood a couple of paces across from them, tapping at a clipboard with a pencil eraser.

“Right,” she said, “that should do it.”

“Miz de Guerre,” said Mother, “sorry...Belle...are you sure...”

“Missus Gothel,” Belle interrupted, “we've been over everything. Some of it multiple times. This is the best place for your daughter, on campus or otherwise. She'll be fine.”

“If you're sure...”

Belle cocked her head in what looked like a no-nonsense sort of way. Rapunzel suspected the other woman was used to dealing with difficult people, and Mother was nothing if not difficult.

Music suddenly sounded from somewhere near Belle's middle. She reached into a cargo pocket and drew out a smart-phone. She tapped on it, then said, “Hello, my lover.” There was a long pause. Belle's face fell and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, what? Your GPS has hospitals, right? You're _WHAT?!_ You're sh...” She glanced up and met Rapunzel's eye. “...kidding me, right?” She groaned and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Wait, who's driving?” She stiffened. “Dammit, Thorin, hang up and drive, you idiot! Just call me when you get here.”

Belle ended the call and slid the phone back into its pocket. She exhaled heavily, then rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and groaned.

“What was that?” Rapunzel asked.

Belle looked sharply at Rapunzel. “Fiancé,” she said. “Other than that...don't ask.” At Rapunzel's raised eyebrow, she added, “Actually, I think it's best if you didn't know.” Her eyes flicked to Rapunzel's mother. “It's complicated,” she said. Then to Rapunzel, “You said that's all you brought?”

Rapunzel looked down at her two large suitcases, garment bag, and what she considered to be a moderate-sized backpack. She shrugged.

“Not that it's a problem,” said Belle, “it's just that most people haul a lot more crap than that off to college. I didn't bring much more than that myself, and half of it's tactical.”

“T...tactical?” said Mother, her voice straining the upper end of her register.

“I told you, Missus Gothel, she'll be well-protected.”

“You mean...as in...real weapons?”

Belle stared at Mother for a few moments. “No,” she said sarcastically, “with tweezers, emery boards, and nail clippers. Of course real weapons!”

“I'll be fine,” said Rapunzel. “Really.”

“But you've never...”

“Yes, yes, I know. We spent the whole trip here discussing it. Or...I guess _you_ spent the whole trip discussing it. But the very fact that we're here...” She felt herself deflate. “I...I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to be confrontational.”

Mother nodded, then gave Rapunzel a light hug. “I'll see you in a month, then?”

Rapunzel nodded. Mother reluctantly backed away and disappeared through the door. Rapunzel exhaled heavily.

“You look like a statue,” said Belle.

“I guess.”

“No, really. You're stiff as a board. Are you sure you're okay?”

Rapunzel hesitated. “No...not really. It's just...I've never been away from home...ever.”

“Well,” said Belle, flipping through pages on her clipboard, “it's not like there's space on the forms for back-story.” She looked up again and smiled. “But we'll all have plenty of time to get to know each other. That usually helps people find themselves. Or so they say. I've never quite been into all that existential stuff myself, but...” She shrugged, then jerked her head toward the stairs. “May as well go up and make yourself at home. Dinner's at seventeen hundred hours.”

“Thank-you,” said Rapunzel. She picked up her bags and headed for the stairs.

“Oh, and Rapunzel?”

“Hm?”

“Relax, will you?”

“I'll...I'll try.”

“No, try not. Do, or do not, there is no try.”

“Huh?”

“You...oh, for the love of...sorry, we'll get back to that later. You have moving in to do and I still have a couple more arrivals coming. Doors are numbered. Anything else in addition to what we've already gone over should be self-explanatory.”

“Okay.” Rapunzel hauled herself and her belongings up the stairs. None of the numbers on the second floor matched. Same with the third. The lone door on the fourth floor did.

She sighed. The top floor. Why did it have to be the top floor? She set down a suitcase, pulled a key out of a skirt pocket and slid it into the doorknob. It turned readily and the door swung easily inward with a slight creak.

She dropped her luggage in the middle of the floor and looked around. The room was large by her standards, maybe twenty by thirty. A twin bed sat against the opposite wall, made up with white sheets and a heather-grey wool blanket. A blue-and-purple plaid blanket lay folded at the foot.

A worn wooden desk sat next to head of the bed, a stout wooden bookshelf next to that, and a four-drawer dresser across from that. A pair of doors to her right stood open. A glint of metal off a clothes rod shone behind the sliding one. Rapunzel walked across the room to the other door and peeked inside.

As she suspected, it was a simple bathroom. Walk-in shower, plate-glass mirror, a single drawer presumably for toiletries, and a small cupboard containing several rolls of toilet paper. Several white terry towels sat folded on a metal rack mounted to the wall.

She stepped back out into the bedroom and walked across to the single window set in the middle of the opposite wall. She undid the latch and tugged on the frame. It slid easily upward, sticking a little at the halfway point. A breath of fresh air wafted into the room, dislodging a tendril of her golden-blonde hair.

She leaned out and sighed. For a moment, she felt like she was back home, leaning out the window like she'd done countless times over the years, looking out, but staying in. Always staying in. She had a hard time believing that she actually _could_ leave her room. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure she hadn't been imagining things. But her door still stood wide open, just like she'd left it.

She returned her attention to the wide-open space and the three-story drop to the landscaping below. A rhododendron hedge grew against the building. A flagstone walkway separated that from a wide swath of lawn, and then the street.

Mother stood next to the nondescript black car that had carried the two of them less than an hour before. Two men in black suits and dark sunglasses hovered near her the way she herself had hovered near Rapunzel.

She waved weakly and Mother waved back. Then they ducked into the car and were gone.

Rapunzel leaned her arms on the window and exhaled. She stayed that way for some time, half expecting the black car to return and take her back to what she now knew to be her prison. But she knew, in her heart, that her life would never be the same. Not really.

She had questions, so many of them that she felt her questions had questions. Chief among them being whether she'd ever be reunited with her birth parents. She didn't know.

She did, however, know that she had to unpack. And that classes started in the morning. Which reminded her, she still had no idea what she was taking! That must have been a first. Every moment of every day had always been more or less scripted, or so it had always seemed.

She turned away from the window, her thick braid nearly dragging on the floor. She pulled a folder from her backpack and opened it. Hmmm. Intro to Sociology. Western Civilization. Biology 101. Old Testament. German. Intermediate Guitar. Ancient Literature. Archery. Wilderness Survival. And that was just Fall semester!

She flipped the page. Ah...Spring semester. Intro to Psychology. World Religions. Biology 102. New Testament. More German. More Guitar. Survey of Art. Pacific Northwest Field Botany. Fencing. Underwater Basket-weaving. Her eyebrow went up. That was really a thing? Huh. And...a class for May Term...World Apocalypses. Oh, joy.

Well, one thing was for sure, things weren't likely to be boring anytime in the foreseeable future.

* * *

Snow White's eyes popped open. She stared up at something white. Not bright, really, but still white. She moved to sit, but quickly gave up. Why were her abs so sore? It felt like she'd been doing crunches for days on end. Which she hadn't, of course. She didn't want to think about her legs.

She gathered herself again, then rolled onto her side, and pushed herself upright with her arms, swiveling on her hip. She felt something slide off of her.

She glanced down. A rumpled sheet lay partly on the floor, a bare foot peeking out from under it. The air pricked at her skin. Wait a minute. She'd been wearing shoes...and more. She gasped and quickly pulled the sheet back over her naked body. Her heart rose in her throat, pounding like a galloping horse.

She rose shakily to her feet. Her legs felt like rubber and they nearly gave out on her. She grunted, willing herself upright. She hurt from the inside out...or maybe it was from the outside in. The skin of her face, neck, upper chest and back, arms, and lower legs hurt in that unmistakable sunburn way. It wasn't as bad as a couple of the ones she'd had, but she could tell she was going to be feeling that for the better part of a week.

Beneath the dull sunburn, she felt a sort of stinging sensation, mostly on her arms, legs, and face. Her abs were sore. Her quadriceps felt like they'd been grinding sand between them. Her knees hurt. Her calves throbbed. Her feet screamed at her.

She glanced down and saw for the first time the bandages on her feet. She tilted her head back up, her hair shifting to fall down her back, and groaned.

She looked around the room. She seemed to be alone. She shifted the sheet, wrapping it around herself like a toga. The fabric dragged painfully across her skin and she winced. There should at least have been a party to go along with it. Not that anything good would have come of that, but togas and parties did seem to go together, or so she'd been told.

Directly across from her sat an enormous, circular coffee table, complete with several mugs of partially-consumed coffee. She picked one up and sniffed at it. It was still slightly warm, though far from fresh. Whoever had brewed it must have left in a hurry...or was still nearby. She quickly set it down again, wincing at the ceramic-on-wood sound that seemed louder than it probably was.

A large flat-screen TV rested on another low table. Several medium-sized beanbag chairs sat on the floor and behind them a few small, beat-up plastic chairs and a scattering of wooden chairs and stools. Most of them appeared to have had their legs sawed off. On the other side of the room between two windows stood a brick fireplace with three conspicuous triangles set into the wall above the mantle.

She took a step and drew a ragged breath. Pain shot through the ball of her foot as though she'd stepped onto a few shards of broken glass. She almost screamed. The pain quickly subsided. The next step brought the same results. Tears welled up in her eyes. Surprisingly, more movement brought somewhat less pain. Only after stopping for a minute was the following step worse than the one before.

She limped quietly into an adjacent room. A low table about waist height stood in the middle beneath a tarnished brass chandelier. Around the table sat more chairs and stools like the ones in the living area. Its surface was strewn with dishes bearing partially-eaten food, mostly waffles, whole-grain griddle cakes, and granola from the look of it. Miraculously, a small piece of bacon had escaped someone's notice.

Snow reached for the bacon, then paused. She, of course, had no idea who'd been eating it. But she was easily hungry enough to eat the whole pig and then some. And from the look of things, she doubted anyone would have noticed. With a force of sheer willpower, of which she'd often been told she had aplenty, she drew her hand back inside the sheet.

Off to one side ran some counter space and the usual wall-mounted cupboards of a kitchen. But a couple of small round, rolling stools of the type she'd seen in most libraries sat on the floor. Like the table, the counters and sink were littered with dirty dishes.

Snow grimaced. Had she somehow found herself in a house full of preschoolers? Or maybe a daycare staffed by some woefully overworked mom? That would have explained...well, most of it.

She was suddenly aware of her still-parched mouth. She tottered gingerly into the kitchen and began opening cupboards.

Finally she found a few clean glasses. She pulled one out and filled it with water from the tap. She hadn't asked, of course. There didn't seem to be anyone around and surely no one would have begrudged her some water. That would have been inhumane.

She downed the first glass almost without noticing. The second and the third went quickly, too. She filled a fourth, braced herself, then padded back into the living area, trying not to think about whatever her bare, bandaged, possibly bleeding, and probably swollen feet were treading. Her legs seemed to have loosened up a little, but they still hurt like...well, a lot like the morning after her first day of tenth grade P.E.

What had happened to her clothes anyway? She froze as a terrifying realization hit her. What if...what if someone, or multiple someones, had...had done things to her? The last thing she remembered was collapsing into the dirt beneath some conifers up in the mountains. Who knew how long ago that had been?

She shook it off with outward effort. It wasn't as if she could do anything about it. Not yet anyway. She'd watched all the good crime dramas, so she knew the drill. Besides, why had they bothered to bandage her feet? Weren't victims usually hidden somewhere? First order of business, she had to find out where she was.

So far, there wasn't much to set the place apart, except for those three triangles on the wall over the mantle. She looked around the room again, then stepped over to a bookshelf. All the books were on the bottom half and none on the top. Even shelves at her own chest level were bare. She took a sip of water, then bent over to examine the titles on the spines.

Advanced Metallurgy. Blade-smithing. Modern Industrial Mining. Mineral Resources. Refractory Technology. Dozens of publications by the US Geological Survey. More geologic and topographical maps than she could count offhand. A stack of DeLorme Atlases. Arms and Armor. The Art of War. US Army Survival Guide. Country Wisdom Almanac. Jerky. The Complete Bowyer. A Dyers Garden. Herbal Tea Gardens. Vegetable Gardening West of the Cascades. Native American Ethnobotany. The Forager's Garden. Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast. Encyclopedia of Home Remedies. Wilderness First Aid. Pacific Crest Trail Guidebook in three volumes. The Prose Edda. The Poetic Edda. Beowulf. There were scores of other titles, mostly along similar lines. What were these people doing, preparing for the Apocalypse? It figured.

“Crap,” she said softly, “I'm trapped with a bunch of survivalist wackos.”

“Wackos?”

Snow jumped bolt upright, sloshing water out of her glass, nearly dropping it, and yelped. She looked down at a man at least a full head shorter than her own five-seven.

He stood between her and what looked like a foyer, his hands on his hips and looking up at her defiantly with intense green eyes. He was built like a bear. Cords of muscle rippled beneath the skin of his arms, legs, neck, and, Snow presumed, his broad, barrel chest. He had an intense, almost feral look about him, as though he could have picked up a Volskwagen Beetle or ripped the limbs off a mountain lion with as little regard as anyone else would have had tearing up lettuce for a salad. His beard was haphazardly trimmed, his long, coarse black hair tied back out of his face. In fact, he almost reminded her of a miniature, much hairier, Arnold Schwarzenegger. He wore black Birkenstocks, black cargo shorts, and a black T-shirt emblazoned with a Thor's hammer in bright yellow.

“I think,” said the man, his voice a low baritone, “that this is the first time anyone has called me that.”

“I...I'm sorry,” Snow stammered, “I...didn't mean to offend anyone. It's just...”

“Yes, you did,” the man interrupted. “I've been called worse anyway. But if I might ask, why 'wacko?'”

Snow glanced at the books, then back to the man. “Uh...”

The man chuckled. “You think it's easy going through life as a person of less than average stature?”

“Well...”

“No. It isn't. So we have to look out for ourselves. Hence the...” He gestured at the books. “Well, some of it.”

“I...um...”

“Hold that thought.” The man pulled a smart phone out of a pocket and tapped on it. A moment later, “Hi. You wanted to know when she woke up? Well, she's awake. Sure, no problem.” He ended the call and returned the phone to its pocket.

“Now, my little friend,” he said, “let's see if we can't find out what you are...and where you come from.”

“What?”

“Star Wars? Never mind.” He nodded to the couch. “Why don't you have a seat?”

Snow glanced back to where she'd been sleeping...or passed out, she still wasn't sure which.

“It won't bite, you know,” the man added.

She glanced warily back at him, then backed up and sank onto the edge of the nearest couch cushion.

“Now, don't go anywhere,” the man said, as he stepped toward the kitchen.

“Is that why you took my clothes?” she asked.

“No,” he said from the other room. “We took them because they were filthy and...seriously, I'm not sure I want to know what you'd been doing in them. Don't know how you managed from ripping yourself up along with them.”

The man returned with a packet of something. He held it out. “Mix this in with your water.”

Snow eyed it suspiciously. “It's a roofie, isn't it?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Just read the package.”

She took the packet and looked at it. “What's Vitalyte?” she asked.

“Read the rest of it.”

She did. “Electrolyte replacement drink mix.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“We're surprised you could still walk. That's another reason at least one of us has been keeping an eye on you. To make sure you didn't go into hyponatremic shock.”

“Hypo-what?”

“Hyponatremia. Electrolyte deficiency. Nasty condition. Masquerades as dehydration. You had that, too. We thought we might have to put an IV in you.”

Snow looked at the man for a few moments, then tore the packet open and poured it into what was left of her water. Much of it settled to the bottom.

“Here,” the man said, holding out a spoon. “And yes, it's clean.”

She accepted the spoon and stirred. She still wasn't sure she trusted the man, but there had so far been no sign that he had any nefarious intentions, despite the aggressive air about him. Once the powder seemed to have mixed well enough, she took a sip. The sip turned into a bigger sip, which turned into a gulp and before she knew it, she'd chugged the whole glass. Only when she'd swallowed the last bit did the take a breath.

“Oh, gosh, that was good!”

“And that,” said the man, “is how you know you needed it.”

She set the glass on the coffee table, still not taking her eyes off the man.

“You don't trust me, do you?” he said.

“I'm in a strange place with a strange, dangerous-looking man and minus my clothes,” she said curtly. “What do you think?”

He shrugged. “Not sure I blame you.”

The front door flew open without warning and three women burst into the foyer. The one in the rear barely paused as she nearly flung the door shut on the heels of the others, who made a bee-line for Snow. They stopped behind the man, seeming to tower over him, although none of them was more than an inch or so taller than Snow herself.

The first woman had her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A bronze Thor's hammer pendant bounced slightly above her moderate cleavage, her décolletage barely visible above the modest neckline of a sleeveless top she'd tucked into a sage green cargo skirt.

The second had her hair stuffed up under a red cap. A beige T-shirt bearing a wolf designed in the Haida tradition was tucked into camo cargo shorts. Around her neck, four white curving, conical objects, each at least two inches long, hung from their thicker ends on a stout cord, each separated from the other by an irregular amber bead.

The third barely seemed to have run a brush through her wild-looking blonde, conspicuously green-tinged hair. A simple knee-length, sleeveless linen dress in a sort of sea green hung on her frame.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” said the first woman.

“Um...thanks,” said Snow, “I think.”

The woman looked at the man. “Did you give it to her?”

He nodded. That made Snow uneasy anew.

She looked back at Snow. “You're tense enough to hurl a boulder,” she said. “Relax already.”

Snow wasn't sure she could. Not yet. She still didn't know where she was, how she'd come to be there, or who the people were who stood over her.

“Hungry?” said the woman.

Snow's stomach chose that moment to growl quite loudly.

The woman smiled. “I'll take that as a yes.” She turned to the woman in the hat. “Scarlet?”

“I'm on it,” said Scarlet, and dashed into the kitchen.

A moment later, she stuck her head back out. “Do you have any food allergies?” she asked.

Snow shook her head.

“Vegan?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good.” Scarlet ducked back into the kitchen.

“Why's it good that I'm not vegan?” Snow asked.

“Scarlet's grandmother was eaten by a dire wolf,” said the first woman. “Watched it happen, too.”

“That's...that's terrible!”

“Understatement of the year,” muttered the man.

“She just wasn't the same after that. She'd even been vegan. But now? Suffice it to say she's developed what you might call a sort of personal vendetta against almost anything with a pulse.”

The woman turned to the third, who'd been standing quietly. “Melusine, would you give Scarlet a hand?”

Melusine nodded, then whirled about, her hair glinting a little toward the blue end of the spectrum as it whipped about behind her.

The first woman sighed, then extended her hand. “Belle de Guerres,” she said.

Snow took it, the grip firmer than she might have expected. “Snow White,” she replied.

The man likewise extended his hand. “Thorin Skjoldreik.”

Thorin's grip was vice-like.

“Thorin,” said Belle, her voice dripping with exasperation, “don't break her. It's not a competition.”

Thorin smiled smugly as he released Snow's hand. “Depends on your point of view.” At Snow's raised eyebrow, he continued. “One can tell a lot about a person by the way they shake hands.”

“Later, Thorin,” said Belle dismissively. “We're awfully sorry about all of this,” she continued. She grabbed a three-legged stool and lowered herself smoothly onto it.

The man grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat down, his arms braced over the chair's back.

“Now,” said Belle, “where were we?”

“Who are you, where am I, how'd I get here, and where are my clothes?”

“Well...I think we've made the introductions,” said Belle.

“Sort of. You told me your names, but that still doesn't tell me who you are.”

Belle smiled. “You're sharp. You'd do well here, I think. You do have a good point, though. Barring the long stories, which I think we might have time to tell later, suffice it to say that we're friends and we're here to help.”

“Uh-huh,” said Snow dubiously.

“We could have just left you on the ground up there,” said Thorin.

Belle cleared her throat and cast a sideways glare toward Thorin. “Every friendship begins with a meeting of strangers,” she said. “You'll just have to trust us.”

“Or not,” said Thorin. “At least keep your eyes open and let the evidence speak for itself.”

“In answer to the second,” said Belle, “you're at James Wolfe University.”

“Delta-Delta-Delta House, to be precise,” said Thorin.

“Never heard of it,” said Snow. “Either of those.”

“Jay-Dub is in Eisenburg,” said Belle. “Not far from Portland.”

“I'm...still in Oregon?”

Belle nodded.

“Three-Dee is a fraternity,” said Thorin.

Snow stiffened. “You mean...this is a frat house? And you...” She broke off, eying Thorin suspiciously.

“We didn't do anything to you, if that's what you're thinking,” said Thorin. He jerked his head toward Belle. “She wouldn't have let us anyway.”

Belle chuckled. “Damn straight. I thought it wiser to have Ella handle your...disrobing.”

“Ella?”

“She's in class at the moment.”

“You should have seen her go on about how dirty you were,” said Thorin.

“Wha...” Snow poked an arm out from beneath the sheet and peered at it. It was squeaky clean, but marred with dozens of scrapes, some cuts, and a few insect bites. Yet she distinctly remembered being covered head to toe in dirt, forest detritus, volcanic ash, and dried blood. Why hadn't she noticed it before?

“Ella and Melusine gave you a sponge-bath,” said Belle.

Thorin snorted. “Took them long enough, too. It's a good thing you didn't hear the guys complaining about you three taking up the bathroom.”

“Hey,” said Belle defensively, “there are two others.”

Thorin rolled his eyes.

“So...what about you?” Snow asked. “Are you in...Delta-Delta-Delta?”

Belle smiled. “Epsilon-Mu-Upsilon. Sorority a couple of buildings over. I'm in charge there just like Thorin's in charge here. We make a pretty good team.” She shot him a look. “Most of the time.”

“Anyway,” said Thorin, “guys in Three-Dee pursue careers relating to mineral resources. Mining, oil and gas, geology, hydrology, certain sectors of civil engineering. That sort of thing.”

Snow glanced toward the bookshelf she'd been perusing when Thorin had startled her.

“Yeah, hence all...well, a lot of our books.”

“And the ones not about...mineral resources?”

Thorin chuckled, the sound seeming to resonate through his body and into the floor. “You mean the survival stuff? Like I said, people like us have to take care of ourselves.”

“Besides,” Belle added, “it pays to be prepared.”

“For what, the Zombie Apocalypse?”

Thorin snorted.

Belle shot him a look. “The Robot Apocalypse is far more likely,” she said. “Followed by the Technopocalypse and then the Biblical Apocalypse.”

“What we should be worried about,” said Thorin, “is the complete collapse of the world economy and the American government.”

Snow groaned. “You're not... _those_ kinds of people...are you?”

“If you mean what I think you mean,” said Belle, “we're exactly the sort of people you want on your side when the stuff hits the fan. And one way or another, it will. History tells us that quite clearly. And those who don't study their history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Inaccurately,” Thorin added.

“So are...all of you...both, um, houses...survivalist types?”

“Yup,” said Thorin. “Gotta be.”

“Is that why...uh, Scarlet...wears a knife?” Snow had noticed it when she'd retreated to the kitchen.

“More or less,” said Scarlet from the kitchen.

“That's just the one she lets you see,” said Thorin.

Belle rolled her eyes.

Scarlet and Melusine reappeared, each carrying a plate full of what looked like various finger-foods. They set them down on the coffee table and stepped over to Snow. She immediately grabbed a taquito and bit into it. It was still warm! She knew it was basically fast food, but she still felt like she'd just died and gone to heaven.

Scarlet extended a hand. “Scarlet Hood.”

Snow swallowed her bite. “Snow White.” Scarlet's grip was strong, too.

Melusine extended hers.

“This is Melusine,” said Scarlet.

Melusine's grip was almost as strong as Thorin's.

“Pleased to meet you all,” said Snow, “I think.” She looked at Melusine. “So...what's with the green hair?”

Melusine just looked Snow in the eye.

“I...no offense. It's just...”

“She doesn't talk about it,” said Scarlet.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Melusine inclined her head and smiled thinly.

“Actually,” said Scarlet, “she doesn't talk about anything. Ever.”

Snow blinked.

“Drives her profs nuts,” said Belle. “The only reason I know is that they come whining to me about it.”

“Why you?”

“Because I'm sorority head and so they think that makes her laconicity my problem. She's really quite intelligent. Could probably teach every class she's taking, in fact. She just doesn't talk and she won't submit to any testing for it. So far as anyone can tell, it may as well be by choice. The only reason we even know her name is that she wrote it down.”

“In Greek,” Scarlet added.

“Doesn't stop her from flirting, though,” said Thorin. “Thing is, she doesn't seem interested in getting laid.”

Melusine glared at Thorin.

“I think that's enough, dear,” said Belle. “Though I think what she really wants is to get married.”

Melusine's face lit up at Belle's comment.

“We keep telling her that it's highly unlikely to happen if she won't talk to anyone. But she just as resolutely insists on doing things her way.”

“On the bright side,” said Scarlet, “that girl can swim! I mean, faster than Michael Phelps. It's scary. I swear she can hold her breath better than a whale.”

“And never,” said Thorin, “under any circumstances, stand between her and sushi.”

Belle chuckled. “Watched her go right through the quarterback and three linemen last week just to get to the last California roll. It was like they weren't even there. She knocked them on their butts like so many bowling pins. You should have seen it, them laying on their backs, feet flailing in the air. Funniest thing I've ever seen!”

Melusine smiled sheepishly.

“So,” said Scarlet, “what were you doing up there on the PCT, anyway?”

“The what?”

“Pacific Crest Trail,” said Thorin.

“Running away.”

“Well, that's generally why people go out there,” said Thorin. “To get away from it all. But if you were trying to set an ultralight record, you were going about it the wrong way. I mean, hike your own hike and all, but still.”

“You almost got yourself killed,” said Belle flatly.

“Did not.”

Scarlet snorted. She pointed at the empty packet of Vitalyte. “Oh, really? Do you know when to drink the water and when to treat it? Or how to track and keep from being tracked yourself? Do you know what to eat and what to avoid out there and how to prepare it? Because from the way the guys were talking, you'd be a Jane Doe in a morgue somewhere if they hadn't been there to practically catch you.

“No, I don't think you had any clue what you were doing. If you did, you wouldn't have been out there in silk satin and heels...okay, so one inch isn't much, but no one, not even the flakes over in Kappa-Mu-Alpha, ever goes hiking in heels unless they're logging boots. And you were in sandals...what's left of them, anyway.”

Snow crossed her arms. “Don't you wear heels?”

“On occasion,” said Belle.

Snow looked at Melusine's simple, suede flats, Scarlet's black combat boots, and Belle's brown leather Tevas.

“Her sisters, on the other hand,” said Scarlet. Belle shot her a look. “What? You remember that one time...”

“That _one_ time?”

Scarlet looked back at Snow. “Some morons tried to rape them.”

Belle groaned. “Scarlet...”

“Because they were wearing heels?” said Snow. “That's bull...”

“No,” said Belle sourly, “some morons tried to rape us because they wouldn't keep it in their pants. They almost succeeded because my sisters couldn't actually run away and they couldn't run because they were in four-inch spike heels. One of them even broke an ankle trying to do it. That's why I rarely wear heels of any height. That, and I don't really see the point, except for vanity's sake.”

“Bitches still blame her for it.”

“Scarlet, please don't talk about my sisters like that. I know they're...difficult, but...”

“Difficult? The only way you got away is because you kicked two of those idiots in the balls.” At Snow's quizzical look, she added, “She tazered a third one. Also in the balls. The others ran when she pulled a pair of knives.” Scarlet chuckled. “And Belle wields some impressively large knives.”

Belle exhaled heavily. “Scarlet, you're not helping,” she said. “My family's...complicated, I guess is the most gracious way to put it.”

“Oh,” said Snow flatly. “Sorry I asked.”

Belle smiled thinly. “Don't worry about it.”

“Okay, so how do you know all that? The outdoors stuff, I mean.”

Scarlet fingered her necklace. “How do you think?” she said.

“Are those...?”

“Dire wolf teeth? Yeah. Killed it myself. With my bare hands. I was nine. Its pelt is now my winter coat. You'll see it come November. And the animal rights people can bite me.” She extended her left arm. Nasty-looking white scars puckered the skin and underlying muscle of her forearm. “Been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt.”

“She used to be one of those, too,” said Belle.

Scarlet reached into the basket she'd been carrying and pulled out a small bundle. She thrust it at Snow. “Here. I haven't worn these in a while. You're a size smaller than me, but I think they'll do.”

Snow took the bundle. “Um...thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“So who or what were you running from?” Thorin asked.

“Stepmother.”

Everyone else's eyebrows went up.

“I see,” said Belle pensively.

The door opened and two men of shorter stature than Thorin tottered into the room. That was about the best way Snow knew to describe it. Both men were clearly dwarfs, down to the disproportionately large heads and short limbs. One wore khaki shorts and a plaid button shirt, the other jean shorts and a white T-shirt with something written on it in Cyrillic.

“Ah,” said one, “she's awake.”

“Snow White,” said Thorin, “Julian King and Ivan Vasilyevich.”

She shook hands with each of them. “Uh...how many of you are there?” she asked.

“Direct, isn't she?” said Julian.

“Just in this house?” said Ivan. “Seven.”

“And that's because Frederic hacked the university computers.”

“Isn't that,” said Snow, “illegal or something?”

“Nope,” said Julian. “Thorin said it was a bad move, but there's nothing about it in the university's bylaws or anything. Oh, they found out, but they couldn't make it legally stick.”

“Julian's in pre-law,” said Belle.

“You have no idea how complicated mineral rights and ecological issues can be,” said Julian.

“So,” said Snow, “are all seven of you...dwarfs?”

“We prefer,” said Julian, “vertically challenged. But, yeah, what of it?”

“Nothing. It's just...well, I've never met a dwarf before.”

“Well,” said Ivan, “don't expect us to be scurrying about with pick-axes and coal-faces. Or singing about the Lollipop Guild. Or helping you sit on Santa's lap.”

“Unassuming, but highly-capable James Bond villain sidekicks, maybe,” Julian added.

“Like I said, we have to stick together,” said Thorin.

“As for how you got here,” said Belle, her tone darkening somewhat, “I think you'd better ask Thorin.” She shot him another look.

Thorin seemed to wither slightly. He exhaled. “Well...you collapsed into the dirt right next to the MacKenzie Pass water cache.”

Snow furrowed her brow. She recalled something wooden about waist-high. She'd grabbed at it on her way down. “Is that what that was? I...tried to...”

“Saw the whole thing. You staggered off the trail, took a few steps toward the cache, then just toppled rather ungracefully to the ground. Frederic and I ran over to you. Long story short, we loaded you into Julian's SUV and brought you here.”

“I still think you should have taken her to the hospital in Silverton,” said Belle. “Or the one in Salem.”

“And I still say that was too risky,” said Julian. “No ID, no insurance card, nothing. Just thinking about the legal end was making my head hurt.”

“And what about the legal end of bringing her here?”

“Less of a headache.” Julian paused. “Okay, so the liability is...”

“Still worrying me,” Belle said.

“But now that we know she's being hunted,” said Scarlet, “that changes things. I feel Thorin made the right choice under the circumstances.”

Snow sighed. “And my clothes?” she asked. “Not that I'm ungrateful.” She hefted the bundle of cast-offs Scarlet had handed her. “It's just...those were...”

“Designer brands?” said Scarlet. “Yes. Emphasis on 'were.'”

“What...?”

“Total losses. Had to toss 'em.”

“What?!”

“Not sure what you paid for them, but considering how chewed up they were, I'd say you got your money's worth in armor value alone. I'm still surprised you didn't bleed out all over the trail, or at least sprain something. Hell, even your blisters have blisters. What'd you do, hit every tree, shrub, and rock between there and Lapine?”

“I've seen worse, though,” said Belle. “Photos of it, at least. How do you feel, by the way?”

Snow exhaled. “Like I've been run over by a brontosaurs?”

“Apatosaurus,” Ivan corrected. “There's no such thing as brontosaurs. Someone put the wrong skull on the neck of...”

“Thank-you, Ivan,” said Belle impatiently. “You can fill her in on that later if she's interested.” Belle turned back to Snow. “I'm not surprised, actually. From the look of you, I'm almost amazed you can walk. You're going to be one solid bruise and I expect every muscle in your body is going to be screaming at you for the next week, if they haven't started already. And believe me, you'll be feeling ones you never even knew you had.”

At Snow's raised eyebrow, Scarlet added, “I dragged her and Thorin on a two-week backpacking trip in the high Sierra last summer. Not that she isn't up to it, but she hadn't trained and the trail kicked her ass. Got the both of them thoroughly addicted to it,” she added with a wry smile.

“So,” said Belle, “been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt. Why were you running, anyway?”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Wait, what?!”

“My step-mom tried to kill me. She hired some guy to take me out into the forest. But when we got out there, he folded. Told me everything and said he just couldn't do it. He was supposed to bring back my heart and bury the rest of my body where it wouldn't ever be found. He shot a deer instead, then told me to run. So I did.

“Next thing I knew, I had no idea where I was. I kept blundering around. Then it got dark. And scary. You know how truly dark it gets out there, right? So I kept running, banging into things. Stumbled upon the...PCT, I guess. Hung a right and just kept going. Found some water here and there. Probably sweated...and cried...most of it back out.” She hung her head as memories of those few days flickered through her mind.

“Hey,” said Belle gently. Snow felt the woman's arm around her. It felt good, like she really cared. “We'll figure this out. You might be here a while, though. We all have classes and whatnot and until we get to the bottom of this, I think it's best that anyone who might be interested in your fate still believe you to be dead. That means you'll have to stay here, lay low, and pretend you don't exist.”

Snow looked up and into Belle's eyes. “Really? But...what will I do?”

“Clean house?” said Ivan. Everyone looked at him. “What? Look at this place! It's a bachelor pad. Okay, fine, it's a pig sty.”

“That wouldn't be half as bad if you'd at least bus your dishes and throw crap away,” said Scarlet curtly.

“It's fine,” said Snow. “I...I don't want to impose and if doing all that earns my keep, then that's what I'll do.”

“Ever done it before?” Belle asked. “Clean house, that is.”

“Um...a little. Okay, not since I was eight, and not very often.”

Belle nodded. “Then I'll ask Ella to come over and go over some things with you. She's been itching to get this place looking decent, let me tell you. Just don't be surprised if she gripes about it the whole time. She...well, she's sort of compulsive.”

Thorin snorted. “As in, CDO, compulsive.” At Snow's frown, he elaborated. “That's OCD, but with the letters in alphabetical order, like they should be.”

Belle chuckled slightly. “At least, that's how she puts it. We're not entirely sure if she's joking or how much, but I guess that's neither here nor there.”

* * *

Ella Llydanwyn stepped briskly onto the front porch of Delta-Delta-Delta house. Most of the time, she avoided the place like the plague. Not that she had anything against any of its residents. Sure, a couple of them were more than a bit sensitive about their stature. For the most part, none of them were chronic jerks. On the contrary, they were all pretty good guys, which she'd always thought a bit incongruous with the partier frat boy reputation.

No, what really bothered her was the general unkemptness of the place. In fact, she'd freely and unabashedly used the phrase 'pig sty.' But, again, she didn't really expect anything less from seven college bachelors. But that didn't mean she didn't keep badgering them about it.

“Are you really sure I need to be here?” asked the woman on her heels. “Because I really think I should be...”

Ella whirled around so abruptly, the other woman almost blundered right into her. She half-glared at the yellow-rimmed face, golden hair above and to each side, yellow cotton sun-dress from collarbones to knees.

“For the eighth time, Rapunzel,” Ella replied, “we need the whole team.”

“Why?”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Because Belle said so, that's why.”

Rapunzel exhaled heavily. “I guess.”

Ella paused, her hand halfway to the front door's handle. She looked back and sighed. “Sorry I snapped at you. Look,” she said patiently, “I know things have been really weird for you. They have for all of us. You're not alone and I hope you know that. Someone needs us and we need to help. It's that simple. And there's something magical about coming out the other end of all of that. We've all been there. So you'll have to trust us, okay?”

Rapunzel smiled weakly, then nodded. Ella smiled back, then pulled the door open, half-glancing back to make sure her companion didn't chicken out at the last minute. Not that Ella would really have blamed her. The powerful man-smell alone was almost enough to knock her off her feet. Why, oh why, by Mjolnir, didn't those guys just open a window or twelve?

She stepped into the building's spacious living area, the early September sunset spilling across the room and bathing everyone and everything in a golden-ruddy light.

The whole “team,” as Belle liked to call it, sat in chairs and on stools, some of those with sawed-off legs and some manufactured that way. In the center stood the central coffee table which they all called “the Round Table” and for good reason. It was, well, round, but also big enough one could have sacrificed a lion on it. She still wasn't sure how they'd fit the thing through the front door, but she'd been assured copious amounts of spatial geometry had been employed and she wouldn't have been surprised if Frederic had done some computer modeling to boot.

Snow White sat in the middle of the sofa, Melusine on her right and Scarlet on her left, the dire wolf teeth and amber beads catching the last rays of slanting across the room.

The small cord supporting Scarlet's necklace, made with sinew she'd cut from the same animal that had eaten her grandmother and provided the teeth, was the only other piece of leather she wore besides her boots and the sheath of her Bowie knife, its brass pommel glinting even in the shadow cast by her body. That was a little unusual for her, but the weather was still far too warm.

Nearby, Belle and Thorin sat right next to each other, their fingers intertwined. Despite the situation, they still somehow managed to look sickeningly adorable as usual.

In the other spaces and on sawed-off chairs and stools sat Julian and Ivan. The other four dwarfs--Frederic Barbarossa, Coinneach mac Allpein, Otto Wittelsbach, Harold Blatand, and Stephan Bocskai--fidgeted nervously in their own chairs.

Of the seven dwarfs, Thorin and Otto weren't exactly true dwarfs, per se. Their respective parents had suspected pituitary dwarfism, but their diagnoses had been inconclusive. Stephan and Frederic were textbook pituitary dwarfs, the others achondroplasic.

“Sorry,” said Belle as she stepped up to one of the two unoccupied, standard-sized chairs, “class ran a little late and Rapunzel here almost had an episode.”

“Oh?” said Belle.

“Sorry,” said Rapunzel sheepishly. “I'm...not used to being out and about. It's...scary.”

Belle nodded. “We get that. In the meantime...” She gestured to another chair and Rapunzel sat slowly, grabbing her braid as she sat and coiling it onto her lap in a way that suggested a lifelong habit. She immediately began to absently fidget with it.

Ella adjusted her own chair a few centimeters to the right, then swiveled it slightly, and scowled.

“Yeah,” said Harold, “it's an ellipse. Deal with it.”

Ella snorted, then smoothed her skirt behind her and plopped down onto the chair, tucking her feet daintily beneath it. Her feet were already sweating in her leather flats and she was very glad she'd decided on a lightweight silk sun-dress that morning. She was half-surprised the silver Thor's hammer she wore around her neck hadn't burned its shape into her skin, though maybe it would have if she were sunbathing.

It figured. If Belle was going to call an Althing, she could at least have bothered with something resembling a perfect circle. With so many nerds in the room, she'd have thought they'd have been paying closer attention to geometric tolerances.

“So,” she said to Snow, “I see you're up and about. Well, up anyway. How are you?”

“I feel like I've been run over by a bron...apatosaurus. Other than that?”

Ella managed a thin smile. “Well, from all the dirt Melusine and I washed off you...and there was nearly enough of that to summon a golem...and all the cuts and scrapes you have...” Ella glanced at Belle. “...we're out of Neosporin now, by the way...” Then turning her attention back to Snow, “...I'm surprised you're even remotely vertical.”

“Yeah,” said Snow weakly, “that's kind of what Thorin said, too.”

“Right,” said Belle, “now that we're all here, I'd like to call this shindig to order.”

Ella cringed inwardly. Why were they bothering to call it an Althing if they weren't even going to try to observe the ceremony? On the other hand, the Icelandic Althing had itself changed over the centuries, so maybe it wasn't such a big deal that Belle had been more or less reinventing it to suit the group's needs.

Belle took a deep breath, held if for a few heartbeats, then let it back out. Ella recognized that as her friend's outward sign of an inward centering. Then she spoke. “I, Skjonnet Ofrithr, Gothi Dreparfreki and Allsherjargothi Althingi, call this Thing to order. Let all here present be reminded that each person is bound by law and custom to respect the proceedings of the Thing and conduct his or herself in such a way as to lend dignity and decorum to these proceedings.

“Would Julian Konung, Logsogumathur Althingi, recite the laws of the Thing?”

Julian stood and opened a three-ring binder. Ella personally thought, and had said so on more than one occasion, that they should have carved the laws on slate. At least Julian had had the decency to print it all in the Elder Futhark.

Julian began to read the Laws of the Thing. In both Norse and English. Which took half an hour. When he had finished, he sat down.

“Our first and foremost order of business,” said Belle, “before we hear any grievances, proposed law changes, and the like, is the issue with Miss White.”

Ella noticed Snow frown a little at that, and guessed it had something to do with being called an issue. Not that she blamed the girl. The poor thing had been through the Gods knew what and had essentially been abducted by dwarfs and was currently being held under what amounted to house arrest in a frat house. No, she didn't blame her one bit.

Belle looked directly at Snow. “Would you please share your troubles with the Thing?”

Snow nodded. Belle had mentioned earlier that she'd taken the time to give Snow the Cliff's Notes version of what they were doing. Ella was glad she had.

The joint 3D-EMU Althing had begun as one of Belle's research projects. And, as so often happened with Belle and research, it had snowballed and had dragged the rest of them with it. Never mind that few of them had much Norse heritage. Belle's family was, at least several generations removed, from the Alsace-Loraine region and so the Germanic side of her family gave her an arguably tenuous link to the Norse. Or so Belle had explained it.

Still, Ella had to admit it was a cool thing to do. Especially given Belle's last name and her unarguably Norwegian fiancé. Ella herself, while mainly of Welsh descent, probably had Norse blood, as did practically everyone from anywhere in the British Isles. In fact, practically everyone in the room had some link to the Norse somewhere in their family tree and a few of them, herself included, were followers of Asatru.

Snow took a deep breath, a lengthy sip of her lemonade, and began to tell her story. She was the daughter of one William White, arguably the most influential real estate magnate in world history. Snow's mother had died giving birth to her and her father had re-married a few years after that.

Snow said her stepmother had always made her feel uneasy and she'd never been sure why. She'd made all sorts of guesses, many of them quite wild, but she'd always been far too occupied with school, friends, and more recently boys, to think about it too much. Besides, the woman had always been civil to her, even if aloofly so.

When Snow's father had died of something no one had yet seen fit to share with her, things had deteriorated rapidly. That had been four years ago. Since then, her stepmother had gone from something best described as benign neglect to being outright belligerent toward Snow. That had confused her quite a bit as well. Everyone had assured her, at least during the first year following her father's death, that her stepmother had just been going through grief.

But Snow suspected there was something else. Her best friend had once told her she thought her stepmother was jealous of her beauty. Which she'd thought was silly. But as she'd grown through girlhood, and then into puberty, her stepmother's treatment of her, or at least the intensity of her frowns, had only grown worse. Not dramatically, nor quickly, but still noticeably. In fact, the more Snow thought about it, the more she suspected her friend might be right.

In fact, all the males in the room echoed the sentiment. Ella would have thought they were all just trying to be polite if the girl hadn't indeed been so drop-dead gorgeous. Or would be, once she'd finished growing up and filling out. Ella could almost see herself committing several heinous crimes for Snow's ebony hair alone. Even under all that lingering trail dirt, it was still healthy and luscious.

The next part of her story made Ella's skin crawl. Several days earlier, the family had gone camping near Sunriver, just south of Bend. Though from the way Snow described it, Ella was pretty sure Belle, probably Thorin, and definitely Scarlet, would never have called it “camping.” Scarlet said as much, drawing a warning glare from Belle.

One day, the guide her stepmother had hired had taken Snow out into the expansive ponderosa and lodgepole pine forests between Sunriver and Mt. Bachelor. She related how the man had grown increasingly fidgety the further out they'd hiked and the the longer the shadows had grown.

Finally, the guide had told her that, in his words, he just couldn't take it anymore and had said he was supposed to kill her and make it look like an accident, then hide her body. At first, she hadn't believed him. But he'd insisted and had even shown her the small lacquered box into which he was to have put her heart as proof of the deed.

Snow began to tear up at that and Scarlet handed her a tissue. She blew her nose on it while Melusine put an arm around her shoulders. After a few moments, she continued.

Snow said she'd begun to cry. A lot. Especially when the guide had put his rifle to her upper chest. He'd said something to the effect that there were so few perfect breasts in the world and it would be a crying shame to mar hers. She'd sunk to her knees, blubbering like a baby and pleading with him. She didn't remember just what she'd said. In fact, much of that day was still a bit of a blur.

When the guide had pulled the trigger, she'd thought herself dead. Her ears had rung, one much worse than the other, and for a few moments, she'd been sure her heart had stopped. But when her blood had continued to pound in the less-ringy ear, she'd looked up to see the man holding the rifle, the barrel pointed past her.

She'd looked up at him and he'd nodded behind her. He'd said he'd shot a deer, that her stepmother probably wouldn't know the difference between human and deer hearts, and that she should get the hell out. He'd pointed westward and she'd just taken off running.

She'd run and run and run, pausing occasionally to drink at whatever water she'd found. She'd even lost track of the days and so hadn't been sure when she'd stumbled upon the path she now knew to be the Pacific Crest Trail, nor why she'd turned northward on it, or even less why she hadn't turned onto any of the several side trails that split off from it during its traverse of the Three Sisters.

Ella wondered why the girl hadn't run into anyone else up there. Then she remembered it had been the middle of the week and most people who might otherwise have been up there had either been at work, preparing to return to school, or had already done so. Which had summarily put her at the MacKenzie Pass trailhead at the southern base of Belknap Crater, and ultimately to Delta-Delta-Delta House.

Thorin and the guys had been up there training. Or so he'd said. Personally, Ella thought they were just doing some guy bonding before Fall Semester. But he and Belle insisted that they planned to through-hike the PCT for their honeymoon beginning the following spring. Ella thought they were nuts, and had said so on multiple occasions, but she also knew that they weren't exactly an average couple, so she'd mostly smiled and nodded. Not that she wasn't going to open a betting pool on how far they'd go, let alone whether or not they'd reach Manning Park before the autumn snows shut down the trail in the Washington Cascades, but still.

When Snow had finished, a silence fell, one so palpable, that Ella could nearly have dished it out with a putty knife and used it as furniture polish.

Rapunzel whimpered almost inaudibly. Stephen let out a low whistle. Scarlet groaned.

“You've got to be sh...uh...kidding us,” said Scarlet.

“We're in really deep sh...aving cream,” said Julian.

“We?” said Coinneach.

“Yes, we.”

“Not that I don't follow,” said Ella, “but how are the rest of us in that much trouble? I mean, just so we're all clear.”

“For starters,” said Julian, “she's one of _those_ Whites. Which means her stepmother has a whole army of lawyers. Very highly-paid lawyers, I might add. I'm more litigiously-minded than the rest of you put together and I haven't even taken the bar. So trust me, at the very least we do _not_ want to attempt taking on the legal end of this by ourselves.”

“You heard what she said,” said Rapunzel, “isn't that conspiracy to commit murder?” After a few moments, she added, “What? I watch crime dramas.”

“Close, and somewhat useful...and I'm not saying the writers don't pay attention to the real world, because they do, but...the reality is more complicated. For example, we don't have any evidence. Unless you count any GSR Ella and Melusine didn't scrub off of Snow's face and the clothing that hopefully hasn't quite made it to the dumpster. But, from what Snow's said, her stepmother doesn't have any either.

“The way I see it, worst-case scenario is that she's discovered here, we all get busted, fined and or expelled, she goes back to her stepmother and the evil bitch tries again with a little more, shall we say, subtlety.”

There was more silence.

“So...what if no one finds out?” asked Otto.

Julian snorted. “Are you kidding? What are we going to do, lock her in the closet and shove fruity oatey bars under the door?”

“No,” said Belle pensively, “but I think Otto might be onto something.”

“Like what?” said Stephan.

“Give me a minute,” said Belle.

Ella watched the corners of Thorin's mouth slowly twitch upward into a smile. Ella felt her own follow suit. They all recognized the signs and while none of them quite knew _how_ Belle's mind worked, they all could tell _when_ it worked.

At length, Belle snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. It won't be a permanent solution, but it should at least buy us some time. How much, I don't know, but hopefully enough. We hide her in plain sight.”

“Okay,” said Scarlet uncertainly, “just how do you propose we do that?”

Belle smiled. “We give her an alternate identity. New name, new look, everything.”

Ella smiled. “The new look I can handle.”

“I was hoping you'd say that. Frederic, can you enroll her as...Elsa Gunnarsdottir...and make sure at least one of us shares at least one class with her?”

Frederic chuckled. “Do fish swim?” He cracked his knuckles and grinned. “And might I add, muwahaha?”

“In the meantime...Elsa,” said Belle to Snow, “you officially don't exist. You were never here. Not one of us knows anything about a Snow White, other than what we might find on the news or a Google search. You're not to answer the door or the phone and if anyone comes to visit, which sometimes happens, you're to make yourself scarce. For all intents and purposes, you're dead and buried somewhere east of the Cascade crest.”

“And,” said Ella, “could you maybe help these guys do something about this place?”

“I...I'm staying... _here???_ ” said Snow.

“Temporarily,” said Belle.

Snow's face went whiter than it already was, even under her sunburn. “Okay...sure. Because I am _not_ staying here with it looking like this.”

“Wonderful!” Belle gushed. “So if there aren't any objections...?”

“Um,” said Snow, “not that I'm ungrateful, but...you want me to take college classes?”

“Yes.”

“But I'm not quite sixteen.”

“We'll all say you're precocious.”

“See? I don't even know what that means!”

“An early bloomer.”

“Oh. And how am I supposed to pay for that? Because I'm officially dead, remember?”

“Not a problem,” said Frederic, “I can hack anything.”

“Is that legal?”

“Not strictly speaking,” said Julian. “At least, I don't think it is. At worst, we can make a case for a sort of preemptive witness protection program.”

“Think of it as an acting gig,” said Scarlet.

“Uh-huh,” said Snow dubiously.

“Oh, I think it sounds like fun!” Rapunzel gushed. When Snow looked at her like she was nuts, she added, “Hey, I wasn't sure about this whole college thing either. I'm still not sure about it. But I think I can handle it and if I can, then so can you.”

“No, I...you're getting yourselves into trouble because of me.” Snow shook her head. “I can't drag you all into this.”

“We're already there,” said Belle. “Besides, it's the right thing to do.”

Snow exhaled. “Okay, but if this hits the fan...”

“Not if,” said Thorin, “when.”

“Yeah,” said Julian. “Trust me, this is eventually going to be a public relations nightmare.”

“He's right,” said Belle. “But this gives us some time to prepare.” She shrugged. “And, well, why not have a little fun in the meantime? It's not as if stressing over it is going to do any good anyway.”

Snow deflated.

“Sit up straight,” said Ella. Snow did. “Acting gig, remember? Besides, slouching? Ugh.” Ella rolled her eyes in emphasis.

“Fine,” said Snow resignedly, “I'll do it.”

“What do you think, Ella?” said Belle. “Blonde with a bob cut?”

Ella tapped on her chin. “The haircut won't be a problem, of course. I could do that right now, actually. The coloring, though...we'll have to bleach it, I think. Oh, don't worry...Elsa...it won't be household bleach, of course.” She shuddered. “That'd just be inhuman. No, the real crime will be butchering that hair of yours.”

Snow frowned.

“Seriously...Elsa...you have the best-looking hair I've ever seen. Except maybe for Rapunzel's. It'll be a shame to do all that to it. Not sure I'd be able to do it after a good shampoo and conditioner, but I think we'll all agree it's preferable to, say, a hole in the head.”

A couple of hours later, Ella had finished with Snow's hair. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd had to tell the girl to hold still. Apparently, she'd been thoroughly consumed by the excitement over her college classes. Ella was glad so few of them had been given any real assignments yet. At the rate they were going, they'd be lucky to be out of there before midnight.

“Yes!” cried Frederick from his chair. “I am invincible!”

“Qapla'?” said Scarlet.

Frederick chuckled. “Okay,” he said, “our Elsa Gunnarsdottir will be taking...” He paused, ostensibly to allow everyone else to shift their attention.

“...Ancient Literature with Rapunzel...Ballet with Scarlet...” He cast a glance in her direction. “...and don't be surprised if she tries to turn it into a martial art. If she does, just roll with it.”

“Combat is a dance,” said Scarlet. “You'd be surprised how well the two overlap.”

“Whatever you do,” said Ivan, “never get between her and Belle when they're in armor. Even if they're not using live steel.”

“We'll show you later,” said Belle.

Frederick pretended to ignore Scarlet's comment. They all knew she was right, of course. It just wasn't terribly relevant at the moment. “Archery with Rapunzel, Belle and Thorin...Wilderness Survival...also with Rapunzel, Belle, and Thorin...and he's the instructor for both of them, incidentally...Systems Administration with me...”

“But,” Snow interrupted, “I don't know a thing about any of that.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Rapunzel, “I don't either. I've been shut up in my room all my life. It's...terrifying, actually. So...you're in good company.” She smiled. “We can have panic attacks together!”

Snow managed a weak smile.

“Don't worry,” said Belle, “feeling overwhelmed your first semester of college comes with the territory.”

“Ja,” said Thorin, “I took one look at the place and nearly ran screaming for the hills. Got in a couple of fights the first week alone and all because there was something I thought I couldn't handle.”

Scarlet snorted. “You got into fights over Belle, you mean.”

Thorin grinned. “She's worth fighting over.”

Belle chuckled. “Thorin, after all these years, you're still such a beast.”

Thorin snorted. “All five of them, you mean?” He chuckled. “Well, I have you to thank for bailing me out, patching me up, and helping me find my balance.”

“And that's why you love me.”

“Damn straight.” He leaned over and exchanged a tender kiss with her.

Frederic cleared his throat. “Uh, guys? Aren't we still in session?”

Thorin and Belle broke the kiss. “Oh...right,” he said.

“Anyway, S...Elsa...I'll even let you cheat with me on the homework. Pre-industrial Approaches to the Culinary Arts with Ella...don't ask me why she's taking that since she could teach it in her sleep.”

Ella shrugged. “Contrary to popular belief, I don't know _everything_ about my field. Besides, someone has to make sure you're all fed during whatever apocalypse we have.”

“Moving on,” said Frederic, “Renaissance Literature with Otto...Medieval History with Stephan...Old Testament with Rapunzel...and Creative Writing with Melusine. That's about it, I think. I'll do something about Spring Semester later, depending on how this is all going to shake out.”

“And remember,” said Belle, “whichever of us is having class with you will either pass you off to the next person, bring you back here, or to Epsilon-Mu-Upsilon. We'll text each other with updates and so forth.

“Is there anything else?”

“Are you sure it's a good idea to let her stay here?” Ella asked.

“Ella!” said Otto. “I'm hurt. Don't you trust us?”

Ella exhaled. “Sorry. I...didn't mean it. It's just...I don't know.”

“Besides,” said Belle, “you know full well there are just too many other people over at our place, people not in the loop, as it were. Although on second thought, enough of us are more than a little eccentric, so I doubt anyone would suspect anything. Maybe we'll find some space for you at some point.”

“Well,” said Thorin, “it looks like we have a plan. About this, anyway.”

“I propose,” said Belle, “that we suspend the Thing and resume our session on Saturday.”

There were murmurs of assent.

“So noted,” she said, then smiled, mostly at Snow. “Besides, I think we'll all feel and think better if we haven't been run ragged all day. In the meantime, we...meaning mostly me and Scarlet...need to come up with some plausible-sounding back-story for Elsa Gunnarsdottir.”

“And we...meaning mostly me,” said Scarlet, “should probably teach you improvisational hand-to-hand combat.”

Snow frowned. “Huh?”

“Oh,” said Rapunzel, “you mean like using a frying pan as a weapon?”

“I hadn't thought about that,” said Scarlet, “but it might work.”

“I used one on a burglar a few years ago. It was very effective. Of course, Mother used the incident to dissuade me from wanting to leave, but...” She shrugged.

She turned away. “And remember, no partying Friday night, okay?”

The remark was met with a chorus of groans. One thing was certain: it was easily going to be Ella's most interesting year yet.


End file.
